#The day John met Paul : an hour‑by‑hour account of how the Beatles began | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asphalt-cocktail · 4 years

Text

Finding my way back

Summary: Nearly a decade after you and John break up you manage to find your way back to him.

A/N: Hello my dears! So I wrote this for Beatle and Queen secret santa exchange! Apologies it’s not heavily Christmas/holiday themed; it does take place during winter so I hope that counts for something. I hope you enjoy your fic as much as i enjoyed writing it @sweetrosetta-martin! I wrote this after I heard the song Green Papaya by Lianne La Havas which makes me feel some type of way. Also shout out to @casafrass and @moodysunflowergirl for putting this together! Thank you for all your hard work and organization for this!

Pairing: John Lennon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Okay friends, we’ve got a bit of everything in here! It’s got some mild illusions to smut and steamy smooches, some angst, some fluff, pinning, longing, break ups, cigarettes, alcohol (I think), swearing, we’ve got Teddy boy!John and 70s!John. But no actual smut.

Word Count: 5.4k

Your heart ached in your chest as you sat in front of John, “What do you mean we can’t see each other anymore?” Your voice cracked with emotion.

John watched your watery eyes from behind his glasses and let out a deep sigh, “I’m going to be touring a lot and Brian wants us to move to London, so I just…” His own voice cracked with emotion, “So I just don’t think we should keep seeing each other.” He looked away unable to maintain eye contact with you.

“But we survived Germany!” You protested back, “It will be okay, I can visit you when you have shows nearby,” You wanted this to work, being with John felt like home. You sniffed, “You know like wait backstage with flowers and everything.” You said and began to rub your stinging eyes.

You were right, the two of you had survived Germany, but it was only because it lasted a few short months and your relationship was open out of respect for the two of you; John didn’t know how long this Beatles thing was going to last and from the looks of it, it was going to last quite a while. John rubbed the tears from behind his glasses, smudging his finger along the lenses and clouding the vision of your perfect face. He squeezed your hand tightly in his own, “It’ll be fine I promise,” He said pausing to kiss your knuckles, “I love you [Y/N] I really do, and if it’s meant to be we will be together again.” He gave you one last chaste kiss; your faces were wet from tear and it was sad and short lived. You embraced him tightly inhaling the scent of cigarettes, mint gun, and a smell that was so distinctly John before finally letting him go to part ways.

The two of you exchanged letters for the first few months of his first tour, but at this point it has been so long that you didn’t remember who stopped writing who and honestly, why did it matter? John was constantly an aching thought in the back of your mind, and you had constant reminders of him from posters to news articles, to full size cardboard cut outs that sat in record stores. It seemed everywhere you turned you saw him which only increased the yearning.

It took several months but you finally found yourself back in a routine that didn’t include John, it was almost like when he went to Germany except this time he wasn’t coming back for good. You finished up school, found a job working in marketing, and had several shitty boyfriends before you found yourself in New York city working in the marketing division of a fashion brand and met Noah. He was nice, but he wasn’t John.

He didn’t smoke cigarettes, or wear glasses, and couldn’t understand art. But he was here, and the sex was pretty okay.

Noah was nice and he made you a pot of coffee every morning he slept over and didn’t try to pry too far into your personal life. All around you didn’t have any qualms with him; it just didn’t feel complete.

The scent of freshly roasted coffee drifted through your home as you woke up with your alarm clock blaring in your ears. You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and rolled out of bed. Noah was busying himself in the kitchen, you should just ask him to move in at this point. “Did you get the paper?” You asked sitting down at the table.

“On the counter, love.” He answered before grabbing it and sliding it across the table towards you. Much to your surprise in big bold letters on the front page “PAUL SPLITS THE BEATLES” were plastered across it. Naturally a picture of the doe-eyed man you once called a friend accompanied it as well as a smaller picture of the group.

“Fucking Christ.” You mumbled to yourself and turned the page, hoping to find something else to read, some couple getting married or some advice column, but no, your eyes continued to draw themselves back to the fab four and specifically John. He looked wildly different now; long hair, glasses, eccentric wardrobe all made him look almost unfamiliar

You finally gave in and read the article; from what you observed in the news and on television tensions were high between the four and it seemed as though fame had gotten the best of them, “Crazy, right?” Noah asked handing you a cup of coffee, “Who would have thought? It looked like they were going to be together forever. But get your riches and split I guess, yeah?”

A sour feeling filled your belly, John and Paul cared more about the Beatles than Noah could ever know. The idea of get rich and dip was ridiculous, wasn’t it? “I don’t think that is the case.” You mumbled before abruptly getting up to get ready for work, forgetting your morning coffee.

It had been almost a decade since you had last seen John, and a lot could have changed. He was no longer the tough teddy boy you had grown to love. His hair had grown out and he was with Yoko Ono now, from the looks of if they were essentially attached at the hip. A part of you hoped you and Noah would never achieve that level of need in your relationship.

Unfortunately, as months passed there seemed to be no other way to progress your and Noah’s relationship and one day he slept over and never left. You no longer had your own space to escape to or much alone time aside from when Noah came home an hour after you from work. You felt throttled and frankly didn’t like it, nor did you like Noah much anymore. It seemed like the right step though, after three years of dating; you could tell Noah craved monogamy.

Your day at work was long and exhausting. All you could think of was your hour of peace and quiet before Noah came home and talked about his boring life at work. If you had to use a color to describe your life it would be grey, dull, boring, no vibrancy or excitement.

New York was full of bright vibrant colors and never slept; it was much livelier that than the cloudy northern United Kingdom city you once called home, but in the small apartment that you lived in there was constant monotony. Waking up, making coffee, going to work, coming home, reading and making dinner, going to sleep; only to repeat that for five days in a row and then sit around the house during the weekend, or leave to get groceries if you were lucky. If you were unlucky, Noah’s accountant friends would come over and talk your ear off about their corporate work life you just couldn’t wrap your head around.

Your mind was swimming with thoughts, mostly about your stagnant life as you navigated your way off the subway once you reached your stop and walked off. It was loud and cramped as everyone flooded off; you kept your head low and pushed your way through the crowd. A firm, but boney shoulder pushed into you causing your thoughts to flee and your brows furrowed as you looked up, “Watch it, asshole.” You mumbled under your breath and looked up before you froze.

Your eyes locked with a pair of eyes that were all too familiar and all the breath in your body seemed to leave, “[Y/N]?” John asked you, seemingly just as shocked as you were.

Despite being in the subway station the world around you stopped. A few sputtering words came out to form an incoherent sentence as you were consumed with shock. Your body became ridged and you sharply exhaled before turning and continuing your short jaunt home.

That night you laid on your side and your mind was consumed with so many thoughts, mostly John if you were being honest. You’d thought you had long since blocked the ghost from your memory, but it appeared that seeing him caused a number of memories to rouse from the depths of your consciousness. You hated it. John Lennon was once again living in your head rent free.

Noah gripped your side and kissed along your shoulders and neck while his hand rubbed your hips and slowly began to wander upwards towards your breasts. The sudden touch caused you to jump, “Not tonight,” You mumbled trying to sound tired.

Noah let out a soft sigh before giving your shoulder one last kiss, “Sorry, you had a long day, love.” He said pulling you close against him and resting his head on your shoulder. As you pretended to sleep you laid in your bed and stared at the wall of darkness in your room.

When the hell did John come to New York?

Did he live nearby?

Was Yoko with him?

Questions swirled around in your mind; questions that would not get answered unless you actively sought out an answer.

As sleep consumed you, you dreamt of John.

The Reeperbahn had a smell you would never forget. You didn’t know cities could have distinct smells until you traveled to Germany to visit John for the first time since he had left Liverpool. It was a combination of pollution, beer, and a smell you had hoped to never figure out what caused it. From his letters this place seemed larger than life, and when you took your first steps off the train you saw it was.

John tackled you with a warm hug, he smelled like sweat, beer, and cigarettes, “You stink.” You grinned and laughed as he kissed your face all over.

“Our options are kind of limited, love.” He grinned and wrapped his arm around your waist keeping you close to him as the two of you walked down the busy street.

He took you to a restaurant, you honestly hadn’t expected him to take you on a date especially with where you were and how little money he had. “Come on, I’ve got a show in two hours,” He grinned, excited to have you watch him play.

“And then we met this group of Germans, they’ll be at the show tonight. I know you’ll love them.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you, “Stu is going with one of them, Astrid. She’s great too, her ma lets us shower at her place and makes us dinner sometimes.” You soaked in all the stories John had to share.

His life seemed so exciting here in Germany, but you could see how exhausted he was beginning to get, “You’ve got to hear how we sound now, Pete’s still shit, but Paul, George and I are really getting better.” He shifted in his seat and poked at his food, “I don’t know if Stu is going to stick with us much longer though; he’s been talking about going back to art school.”

That night you and John slept cramped together in his little bunk bed in the back room. You woke up to him rubbing your arm with the tips of his calloused fingers and he kissed your shoulder.

Rolling over you captured his lips in a soft kiss, he tasted of beer and cigarettes and he clung to you, holding you so close it almost hurt. Breaking the kiss, he began to pepper soft kisses along your jaw and neck, “I love you so much,” He said between heavy breaths.

“I love you too John.” You responded letting out a soft whimper as his fingers began to rub you through the cloth short wore to sleep.

With a gasp you shot up in bed, coated in a layer of sweat and looked around the still dark room, wide eyed. Noah rubbed his sleepy eyes as he woke up, “What’s wrong, hun?” He asked.

You gained control of your breathing once more and laid back down, still uncomfortably sweaty; “Nothing, just a nightmare.” You answered and swallowed thickly.

---

For weeks, John plagued your mind and you were starting to convince yourself that you hadn’t truly seen him and that you were just going crazy. Your sleep was becoming more and more restless as time went on. It got so noticeable that even Noah questioned it.

“Take some time off, hun, you work too much.” He said.

So that was what you did. You finally had a week off after what felt like ages.

It was nice, but you were barely half a day into your vacation, and you began to feel restless. What could you possibly do to fill your time?

Your mind began to wander and drift off to thoughts of John; a wave of nausea immediately washed over you. “I need to leave.” You abruptly said and grabbed your purse and house keys before leaving your flat.

You soon found yourself at Central Park. Despite it being autumn, the weather was nice, the kind of nice where you look outside, and it seems warmer than it is. The breeze was soft but brisk you walked through the park enjoying the breath of fresh air. As you walked through the running paths you admired the changing leaves and the crunching sound they made under your feet.

You eyed a bench that overlooked The Lake, so cleverly named, and brushed the fallen leaves that covered it before you sat down. For once you felt like your mind was free from worry and the anxieties that had been consuming you the last several weeks.

That was until you got up and saw a familiar figure walking down the path that would directly cause yours. A shot of adrenaline shot through you and your heart began to race. It was as though your fight or flight responses had kicked in and they were telling you to get the fuck out of there. You frantically looked around and it felt like a lose-lose situation with whatever option you chose. So, you stayed; how bad was it going to be? Maybe he wouldn’t even notice?

John walked past your little out cove and glanced at you and then looked again, “Fucking hell.” He mumbled stopping in his tracks.

The two of you stood frozen, staring at each other for what seemed like a lifetime before John finally broke the silence, “I thought I saw you at the subway station.” He said bluntly, his familiar voice causing a warm feeling to erupt in your belly and spread to the tips of your fingers.

You opened your mouth and closed it, trying to think of something to say, “You did.” Was what you finally spoke.

“Right,” He sighed, looking down in defeat.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets and shifted the weight on your feet, “Do you want to sit?” You asked abruptly.

John looked at you through his round lenses and nodded, “Sure, I could sit for a while.” He answered.

The two of you sat across from each other on your respective benches, “So, how long have you lived here for?” John asked watching you nervously pick at your fingers.

You looked up from your hands, “About 6 years now.” You leaned back, now feeling confident enough to study his features. His face was thinner, age lines had begun to map themselves out on his face, and his hair was messily layered and framed the sides of his face nicely. He was still as handsome as ever, “How long have you lived here for?”

John cleared his throat and pulled out his cigarettes, placing one in his mouth, “About two years now,” the conversation was weird, like the two of you didn’t know what to talk about. You watched as John’s long fingers light his cigarette, the spicy smell filling the space between the two of you and the smoke delicately curling up towards the sky, “So do you work near by or something?” He asked casually crossing his legs and resting his arm on the back of the bench.

You shook your head, “No, I don’t I just needed to get out of the house.” You said, staring at the reason you felt urged to leave your home in the first place, “I only live about six blocks away. It’s a nice walk.” You added, your stomach suddenly feeling sour as you remembered Noah.

John hummed, inhaling deeply on the cigarette the ember burning a bright red before dimming ever so slightly, “Do you work at all?” His tone came off ruder than expected, but you knew he didn’t intend for it to.

“Marketing.” You answered simply. Your brain swam with question you had for your former lover, “Do you live nearby?” You asked returning the question back to him.

John nodded behind him, “The Dakotas.” He mimicked your shortness. You looked and could see the large building peaking out from the tops of the trees.

You hummed, “Must be nice.” You said flashing him a closed mouth smile.

“It is.” He added and stood up, taking one last deep inhale before stubbing out his half-smoked cigarette in the snow and putting it in his pocket, “You look good, you know.” He said, his eyes studying your seated form before settling on your face.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious and very aware of your existence you crossed pulled your winter coat tighter around you, “So do you John.” You responded, “You’ll have to show me your place sometime.” You boldly suggested.

John flashed you a crooked smile before fishing around in his pocket, “Call me and I’ll see if I can fit you into my schedule.” He said before handing you a business card. Of course, he had business cards.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you took the thick and expensive paper and pocketed it, “I’ll have my people call your people.” You allowed a smile to break your nervous features.

That night your mind saw no peace. You sat in the bathroom staring at the business card in your hand. It was nearly 3 am and the delicate gold letters reflected in the shitty florescent lights that made your eyes ache as you repeatedly read the phone number and name.

The rest of your vacation it seemed as though you were not going to get the mental break you so desperately craved. You watched as Noah left for work and felt a pang of guilt rising in your chest; a pice of you felt greedy for wanting to see John again. So, you figured it would be best to tuck it away in the back of your mind to the place where your other thoughts of John lived and put the card away in a shoe box and tried to forget.

---

Forgetting about your interaction with John seemed to work well, that is until you and Noah broke up.

He stood in the doorway with the boxes of his things. You could tell he didn’t feel great, and neither did you. But a piece of you felt thankful that he was finally moving out. After seeing John your body craved the spontaneity that he used to give you, and the spontaneity that Noah had lacked.

Once the last of his things were moved from your apartment you felt as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You felt good, like a breath of fresh air. You busied yourself by rearranging your home and filling the empty spaces that Noah left after he and his belongings vacated your space.

As you moved your shoe boxes and rearranged your closet a business card slipped from the tear in one of them. It was the one that John had given you only a few months ago.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you stared at the intricate gold letters you familiarized yourself with that night that seemed so long ago. You looked at the clock, it was only 4 PM and you had hoped he wasn’t busy.

You curled up on your couch and held the phone receiver against your ear listening to it ring as you absentmindedly played with the stiff card in your hand.

“Hello?” You instantly recognized John’s voice.

“John?” You responded back, “It’s, um, it’s [Y/N]” You felt a surge of nerves pulse through you.

“You know, I expected you to call sooner.” John skipped the formal greetings.

You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, “Yeah, sorry about that. I suppose nerves got the best of me.” It wasn’t a whole truth, but a half truth, “Do you think you’d be interested in showing me your place sometime?” you asked remembering back to the conversation the two of you had several months prior.

John hummed and you could hear the soft rustle of paper in the background before he cleared his throat, “Yeah, I suppose I could fit you in. Did you want to stay for dinner?”

Your heart thudded in your chest, “Dinner?” You question out loud and let out a puff of air, “Yeah, I suppose I could.”

“Right, so 6 o’clock sound good?” John asked, “I can send a car for you.”

“A car?” You asked, not accustom to the luxuries of being a Beatle, “I can walk it’ll be fine.”

John let out a sigh, “It’s freezing outside and nearly pitch black. You aren’t walking.” He said firmly.

“Fine.” You answered in defeat and gave him your address to send the car.

“Right, be ready by 5:30.” He said

“Shit, okay.” You said before bidding him farewell and scrambling to get ready. The sleek black car arrived and drove you to the Dakotas. It was nice, far nicer than any building you had ever been in before. The driver walked you up to John’s apartment and let you in.

The room was decorated in a hodgepodge of John’s interests, from music to art to antiques; with everything tastefully on display. John walked out, dressed casually in a shirt, jeans, and no shoes and drank in your figure as you stripped off your jacket. You shifted nervously under his intense gaze, “So, you wanted a tour, yeah?” John asked.

You nodded and watched as he crossed his arms over his chest, admiring how his biceps flexed and bulged when his hands rested in position, “Yeah, a tour.” You said secretly hoping this would amount to much more than a tour.

John stretched his arms out, “Well welcome to my humble home.” He greeted in a grandiose manor.

Humble, right.

John’s home was more extravagant than you could have imagined. It was much better than the apartment he lived in with Stu or the back room they had in Hamburg and even better than when he lived with Mimi. He had several cats that roamed around his home; it made you smile and remember the time he brought a stray home and convinced Mimi to keep him. It seemed as though old habits died hard when it came to John.

The two of you made your way back to his living room and he sat down on his couch, “Come on, sit.” He said patting the spot next to him.

“Oh,” You abruptly said, not noticing you had been standing in the middle of the room studying the various things on the wall, “Right.” You quickly sat on the couch uncomfortably stiff, “So… dinner?” You asked.

John nodded his head, not having forgotten the food and pulled out a box of take out menus, “Do you want to order something, I haven’t gotten much for groceries this week.” He admitted sheepishly.

You rifled through the various menus in his collection, “So,” You started, “Where is Yoko?” You asked honestly wondering where his other half was.

“We’re separated right now.” He said sounding uncomfortable.

You glanced over at John and noted his somber expression, this was obviously a topic he didn’t want to talk about. “Sorry to pry.” You said before sliding him the menu of one of your favorite Chinese restaurants in the area.

“It’s a valid question.” He stated, now intently focused on the menu, “What about you?” He asked, peaking up to glance at you before quickly looking away.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, your love life and what not.” He followed up quickly.

You shifted uncomfortably, “Oh, well my ex just moved out today.”

John arched one of his thick brows, “Hm,” He grunted, “Nice lad?” He questioned.

You shrugged, “Yeah, I suppose. Just boring.” You answered thinking back to the stale and stagnant version of your life that was your reality only a week ago.

John watched you frown in distain before he got up to place your orders, “What did you want again?” He asked.

“The number 23 dinner special with an eggroll.” You had your order memorized.

As John placed the order on his telephone, you listened to the sound of his muffled voice and leaned back on the couch. It was interesting how despite not seeing each other for nearly a decade, you still found your way back to him. One of his cats climbed their way on your lap and purred as you scratched behind its ears.

“She likes you.” John said as he walked back into the room, “Food should be here in 45 minutes.” He said plopping back down. The black cat nuzzled its head into your head and let out a soft meow.

“What’s her name?” You asked enjoying the attention your newfound friend was giving you.

“Salt.” He said, a smile cracking his features.

“Salt?” You asked letting out a small huff of laughter.

“Her sister, Pepper is somewhere around here.” He said reaching over and petting Salt, scratching her behind the ears.

Your 45 minutes with John was spent chatting and catching up, he talked about Mimi and told you that she asked about you often and he never knew how to respond, and you talked to him about how you finished college and began your marketing job.

It was interesting how the two of you were able to smooth over the awkwardness of your conversation in just a few short hours, unlike your previous run ins. The familiar warm feeling you would get every time you’d talk to him quickly returned. When your food arrived the doorman from the front of the building brought it up and the two of you laid out your spread on the coffee table.

John walked over to a shelf of movies and pulled one out. He turned towards you, flashing you the box. It didn’t surprise you when he showed you Clockwork Orange. It was a very John movie, “Want to watch it?” He asked smiling softly.

You nodded your head, “Pop it in.” You said waving your hand towards his television.

The movie played in the background as the two of you continued to talk and eat your takeaway, “How are you doing?” You asked.

“I’m fine, how are you?” He responded a confused expression plastered on his face.

You shook your head, “No, John I really mean it; how are you?” You said giving him a sympathetic expression.

Putting his chopsticks down, John sighed, “I don’t know.” He pursed his lips deep in thought, “I mean I suppose I’ve been better.” He answered honestly, “I mean, my wife left me, my friends I’ve known for the last two decades don’t really want much to do with me.” John shrugged his should and looked away from you.

You nodded your head reaching over and grabbing his hand, rubbing it with your thumb before you patted it lightly and pulled it away. John chased your hand with his own and laced his fingers with yours. The rough underside of his palm brushed against your soft ones. The contrasting touch made you shiver, “I missed you.” He said and squeezed your hand.

John brought your hand to the side of his face and pressed your palm to his cheek, leaning into the warmth of your hand, “I missed you too.” You said as you thumb stroked his cheek bone. He turned his face and kissed your skin.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat and the feeling of John’s lips burned into your palm. You watched him, his eyes closed and a calm expression taking over his tense body. Slowly you slid closer to him, closing what little space was between the two of you, “John,” You said breaking the soft silence that had settled between the two of you. He hummed and looked up at you urging you to continue, “You know what you told me when we broke up?”

John looked down, you could tell that the topic hurt him as much as it hurt you, “If it’s meant to be, we’ll find each other.” He said softly now looking at your fingers as he played with them.

In this moment he just looked like John, you’re John you had last seen nearly a decade ago. You pulled your fingers away from him and cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. Hesitantly you moved closer to him, feeling the warmth of John’s body radiating off him. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as your noses touched, lightly brushing against each other.

A soft whimper manifested itself in the back of your throat and trickled out when you felt John press his lips against yours. He pulled your close against his chest and held you against him tightly craving your warmth and body. Your mouths moved with a familiar synchronicity, so familiar it caused your stomach to ache as you frantically clung to John. Your hand managed to fall from his face and tangle itself in his shirt as you tried to pull him closer.

The way your nose bumped against his glasses reminded you of when you were 18 and sneaking into Mimi’s house, giggling as he told you to quiet down while the two of you kissed. You couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

John pulled away and left open mouth kisses on your chin and jaw and finally on your kiss. He immediately went to his favorite spot placing a wet open-mouthed kiss on it. You gasped at the feeling and craned your neck urging him for more.

Which he gladly gave you, pulling more sweet sounds from your mouth. He pulled back and studied your face through hooded eyes. John’s hand came up and he stroked the side of your face with the back of his hand. His touch was light and the back of his hand soft. You let out a sigh and leaned into his touch before looking back at him.

You laid back and pulled John against your chest. He responded by wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his head into you, “I’m sorry for what’s happened John,” You said and admired the weight of his body against yours.

John rubbed his face into your chest and didn’t look at you, “Stay the night, please.” He pleaded with you.

You rubbed his back as he clung to you, your heart ached hearing the loneliness in his voice, “Of course.” You said and kissed the top of his hair. John hummed with content feeling your fingers tracing patterns against his back.

The following morning you woke up next to John, his arm firmly wrapped around you and hair buried in the back of your neck. You turned around and wrapped your free arm him while your other remained pinned on your side. John let out a soft sigh and pulled you close against his chest and kissed the top of your head. You’d forgotten how much you missed and craved affection. You moved to leave, and John pulled you back, “Don’t leave me,” He said softly.

“I have to use the bathroom.” You said smiling and turning towards John.

He let out a playful groan, “Fine.” He said rolling over and sprawling out on his bed like a starfish.

When you returned John was still in the same position, you’d left him in. As you crawled back into the bed John’s arms slithered around you like a snake and pulled you into his chest. You inhaled deeply, missing his smell and smiled against the thin shirt he wore to bed.

In just a short amount of time the life that had once felt so grey and strange was now beginning to once again feel like home.

#casaflowersecretsanta2020 #John lennon x reader #the beatles x reader #John Lennon fluff #The Beatles fanfic

178 notes · View notes

tocrackerboxpalace · 3 years

Text

Le Rêve - Part 6

Summary: After an unproductive studio session, George and Ringo leave in a hurry. John later returns to find his glasses and another unwelcome surprise.

Things were different now.

Not entirely—they still had the band, the songwriting partnership, the united front for the media and press. It’s just that now, the tour was completed with determination and efficiency, becoming just another box to check off. Now, Paul relied much more heavily on George’s suggestions, and in a fit of jealousy or competition (Who could be sure? What was the difference?), John did the same. Now, Lennon-McCartney hardly wrote together and never wrote alone, needing George or Ringo to be in the space as a buffer.

When Paul had come back into the room that night, George knew he’d found John. He entered wordlessly, immediately throwing all of his belongings into his trunk, and George didn’t have the heart to ask where he was going. He and Ringo simply stared, too afraid to test the waters that were more tumultuous than they’d ever seen.

When Paul had finished packing, he’d looked pointedly at Ringo until the man understood. Ringo pushed himself up out of the armchair and followed him out of the room. He’d returned only minutes later with a sad smile in George’s direction that he assumed was meant to be reassuring, but instead was plain unsettling—a visual marker of the notion that something had changed within the group. Ringo had unpacked his things on Paul’s side, and that was that.

They weren’t allowed to talk about what happened. It was this unspoken rule, but a rule nonetheless—which was rather fine with George at first, anyway. But as time dragged on and the air grew no less hostile, George figured that he would rather talk about it for hours if it meant getting the old dynamic back. He was torn between two opposite poles of the spectrum, a futile effort of trying to please both Lennon and McCartney. There was a bitterness flourishing within him at the recognition of his usefulness only when they didn’t need each other. But objectively speaking, he was given more say, more credit, more songs. He couldn’t complain. Or he shouldn’t complain.

Something about the unspoken rule led George and Ringo not to talk about it with each other, either. George knew Ringo was absolutely dying to; at every uncomfortable or unnatural interaction between John and Paul, George knew a concerned glance from Ringo was coming his way. Ringo needed to talk about things, and George felt right guilty in deliberately ignoring the desire. He was just holding out hope that if no one addressed it in any context, the universe would wash away that it even happened, and the band—their livelihoods—would live on.

The quick succession of knuckles against the side of his head jerked him out of his daydream (nightmare?).

“Hello?” Ringo quipped. “Anyone home?”

George scowled and slumped deeper into his seat. “Barely.”

He and Ringo had been dicking about in the studio for the past half-hour. It was just the two of them—Paul hadn’t shown up, and John, already in a sour mood for the day, had cursed the man under his breath and stalked off. That had been about an hour ago, and when John didn’t return, the remaining boys gave up trying to focus. After a brief quarrel over who dropped the ball on bringing the marbles and playing cards, Ringo suggested a friendly competition over who could butcher “She Loves You” on their respective instruments in a funnier fashion. Which, credit where credit was due, was incredibly entertaining; only minutes before now, George had been rolling on the ground in laughter when Ringo had seemingly pulled a bicycle horn from his arse and honked it in place of the famed McCartney-Harrison “Ooh’s”.

However, as many things do when one has an attention span of about two minutes, the game soon grew tired—the song was only so long—and the pair had resorted to quiet, mindless fiddling on their instruments. In turn, the lapse into silence and thought had led George down his aforementioned neuro-rabbithole.

“Are you all right?” Ringo questioned, lifting an eyebrow in his direction. “Y’just seem a bit… off lately, I dunno.” There was an urge there, a pull. Ringo was nearly leaned forward off his chair.

“Off how?” George mused, entertaining the idea a bit. His tone was light, but his expression was stern. It was clear that they were both acknowledging the Unspoken Thing; it was also clear that it would remain as such.

Ringo bit his lip and shrugged back, evidently noting George’s reservations. “Y’know. Quiet-like. At least, more so than usual.”

George scoffed at the referenced nickname. The Quiet Beatle. As if! Give him a question worth answering, and they’d see who the quiet one was then. Certainly not him. “I’ve just got a lot on me mind,” he muttered, lifting a shoulder.

“You’re more in demand than before,” Ringo pointed out bluntly.

A rub of the temples didn’t do much to soothe the stress in his body. The weight of the emotional and mental burdens he’d carried over the last few weeks was beginning to settle on his shoulders with Ringo’s prodding. A sudden exhaustion clouded over him. “I know.”

“Is that bad?”

George looked at his friend with dull eyes. “Should it be?”

He didn’t need an answer, but it still stung a bit not to get one.

After a long beat of silence, Ringo hastily changed the subject. “Maybe we should call it quits for the day,” he suggested with a half-hearted grin, tapping the bass drum lightly and modestly. It was almost a tick at this point, the drummer seemingly wholly unaware of his actions.

George decided to play along with the shift in energy. “I agree, Ritchie. Feels a bit useless without Their Royal Highnesses around to conduct us,” he added with a roll of the eyes and a giggle.

Ringo hummed in agreement. “Oh, John, oh, Paul, please save us! We can’t even remember what album we’re supposed to be working on!” He cackled at his own joke.

“Help!, isn’t it?” George partly ignored the dramatic flair and turned to flick off the amp. He caught Ringo’s sparkling stare as he reached to unplug his Rickenbacker.

“No, mate. We’ve done that one already. Y’know, the whole ‘film’ bit?”

George blinked. “Right.”

“George Harrison, foremost Beatles expert,” Ringo chided. He glared reproachfully at an imaginary camera. “Don’t do drugs, kids.”

“Piss off!” George tried to glower, overruled by the laughter in his voice. Ringo offered him a hand and pulled him up out of the chair.

“Fancy a smoke?”

George’s lips drew into a wide grin. Based on the context, he knew exactly what kind of smoke he was implying. “Race ya to the car.”

—

“Mind telling me where everyone ran off to?”

Paul lifted an accusatory gaze in John’s direction as the man entered the room, his brow deeply furrowed in concentration.

“How should I know?” John answered, scanning the room fervently. His eyes hadn’t met Paul’s yet, Paul noted with a twinge of annoyance.

“Was there not a session today?” Paul hinted, irked by the idea that John too may have tried to skip out. Sure, Paul had been late, but at least he’d intended on coming.

John paused for a moment, shooting him a critical glare. “You tell me.”

He didn’t feel like trying to defend himself.

After a long moment of staring expectantly, John realized he wasn’t going to get an answer. He huffed and returned to his search, tipping over a chair to peer underneath it.

Paul rolled his eyes and offered the glasses at arm’s length, clearing his throat to draw the attention. John blushed and hurried over to snatch them up. He quickly stuffed them back into his pocket.

In response to the twinge of curiosity in his gaze, Paul only shrugged. “Left ‘em on the settee over there, you did. Just figured you would return for them sooner or later.”

John grunted in response.

Paul raised an eyebrow as the man began to head for the door. “All right, then. Mind at least telling me where you’re running off to?”

“I just came back for me glasses.”

“Came back?”

“You weren’t there,” John muttered, nearly inaudible. “I left.”

Paul stiffened, viciously reprimanding the sentimental twitch his heart gave to John’s response. “’M just late. Got caught up in traffic, is all.”

It was a silly excuse. John quirked an eyebrow at the boldfaced lie, knowing good and well Cavendish was barely a ten-minute walk. Paul watched him chew his lip for a moment before deciding to let it be.

Paul accepted John’s compliance graciously and returned to tuning his bass. His skin prickled as he felt John’s eyes on him, watching him closely. Tensions were still incredibly high between them, on account of the thing-that-happened-but-“never-happened”—and it was taking a lot of getting used to. The feeling was unsettling; time and again Paul would have to physically restrain himself, ignoring the twitching desire in his hand to touch John or biting back a witty comment that only John would understand. The emotional connection they’d had was gone, or at least dormant, and Paul couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going through that thick head anymore. It even seemed that Ringo and George had a better guess than him.

It was miserable, really, having to pretend that everything was just dandy. There had been a substantial amount of press upon return from the tour, which was more of an irritation than anything else. There, he could slide into his Paul McCharmly persona, the façade already being somewhat of a character. The lie got quite easy to live when one was already acting. But the media circus was relatively quiet now (as it would ever be), and the hardest part was trying to pretend in front of the three people that knew him better than anyone else alive.

He wasn’t even sure who the pretending was for anymore. It certainly did nothing to quiet his mind or soul.

“What are you working on?” It was a half-arsed effort at conversation, but an effort nonetheless.

“Nothing, yet,” Paul answered, frowning in the direction of his instrument. “I’ve got a bit—real simple, for ‘Wait’. Might add some flare to it, might finish it. Might run it through and absolutely hate it and scrap it. Who knows,” he concluded, almost to himself.

“I think we should talk.” John’s voice, quiet, low.

Paul glanced up at him with a start, desperately trying to mask the surprise on his face. John was looking at him with an odd expression on his face, something Paul couldn’t quite put words to. Only then did he realize that it was the first time the two of them had been alone since the incident.

Heart pounding, he tensed. “When?”

“Now.” The answer was definitive.

“About what?” Paul responded sheepishly.

John’s eyes flashed.

Let’s just forget it ever happened.

Paul felt a sudden wave of stubbornness wash over him, feeling hollow at the abrupt activation of the memory. Of course he couldn’t fucking forget it happened. He couldn’t, and he shouldn’t be expected to. None of them should. Paul noticed the sad, wondering gazes from the other bandmates as well. Sweeping it under the rug had been wholly counterproductive to the entire group (though he didn’t entirely want to test the alternative, either). Best case scenario, the whole thing wouldn’t have happened.

But it did. And life was infinitely worse now because of it.

Paul swallowed hard. This was all John’s fault. Paul could have kept the dream a secret for the rest of his life. A few shameful wanking sessions was probably all it would take to get over it, and while he might look at John a bit differently after, at least John wouldn’t be looking at him differently. About a week of awkwardness would likely ensue, and John would make some offhand comment about how Paul was acting queer, and the two would laugh it off, only one of them knowing how much truth the comment carried. It was John’s fault, because Paul could have figured it out on his own.

“You know what,” John answered coldly.

John wanted to be cold? Paul could do cold. “I really don’t,” he countered with sickeningly false innocence. “What’s got you all worked up, Johnny?”

“Fuck off, Paul, you know what I’m talking about. Don’t try to fuckin’ skirt around it anymore.”

Paul’s heart was hammering in his throat, the blood rushing in his ears. After weeks of drowning in his own head, hearing the words come out of John’s mouth so… dismissively was blindingly infuriating. He had been driving himself mad trying not to talk about it, to think about it, to feel it. He’d shoved the memory down with so much force he’d thought his soul would pop, only to watch it helplessly bubble back to the surface. There was no forgetting it, and there was no addressing it. And now, John was breaking the number one Unspoken Rule of the Unspoken Thing like he never gave a shit about them in the first place.

“Skirting ar-? I’m not skirting around anything. I’m truly blanking, Johnny.” He paused, throat too constricted to swallow the massive lump in it. “Are you sure it’s not something I was supposed to forget?” The comment didn’t have near the effect Paul had hoped.

“Every conversation’s got to turn into a fuckin’ brawl with you, doesn’t it?” John crossed his arms, looking like nothing more than a pissed-off older sibling.

Paul was beside himself. His voice cracked, the words coming out in a near-shriek, but he was so furious that it hardly mattered. “With me? Every conversation is a brawl with me?”

“D’you need to bloody hear it again?” John looked minorly inconvenienced. If he’d had a watch on, he’d be sure to check it right now lazily. His demeanor was utterly vexatious, awakening feelings Paul didn’t even know he had. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this upset with someone.

“You think you get some type of medal, standing up in front of me and acting like none of this matters?” Paul was on his feet now, openly striding towards him. Startled, John stumbled backward a step before smacking his back against the wall. “You want a bleeding award?” Paul raised his tone an octave and fluttered his eyelashes dramatically, a mockery on all levels: “Oh, John, you’re so stony and brave, I bet nothing ever rattles my big, strong man!”

“Fuck you,” John whispered, his eyes begging the conversation to slow down. But Paul was on a roll now, and he’d be damned if he didn’t let out all of the pent-up pain John and John alone had caused over the last few weeks.

“No, fuck you. Do you know how hard it’s been? News flash, John. Not everything is about how you feel. Hard to believe, I know.” John opened his mouth to speak, but Paul cut him off. He was practically on him now, pushing John against the wall as he helplessly cowered under Paul’s alarming tirade.

“Do you know how hard it’s been for me? Trying to figure out if I’m a goddamn queer because of you? And how about the sleepless nights, eh? You’ve had those too, I know it.” A sick sense of pride effloresced in Paul’s chest as John’s eyes shot wide with recognition. “Lying in bed and wondering if you’re not who you thought you were. Wondering what when wrong along the way to make you this way, and what the hell you can do about it now. It’s maddening. And you took my right to get an answer, John.” Paul’s voice broke a bit at the next part. “Talking to you was my only hope at figuring this out and you took it away from me. And now we can’t talk about anything anymore.”

When John started to speak again, Paul lifted a final triumphant hand in his face. “I’m not done. Because let me tell you, Lennon, I don’t care if you need to bawl it out or never think about it again. But don’t stand here and fucking bullshit me like this. I know you.”

John straightened against the wall, eyes flashing with a hatred that almost made Paul’s knees buckle. “You don’t have a bloody clue what’s bullshit. Your whole foundation is bullshit. You’re not pissed at me because you’re upset that our pretty union wasn’t consummated, and thus I robbed you of a chance to explore this bit of newfound sexuality.” John’s tone was mocking, saturated with pretentiousness and exaggeration. “You’re pissed at me because I was just another shag you didn’t get to fully add to your sexual conquests. Grow the fuck up, Paul. You want to talk about knowing each other? I know you. You’re the one who’s bullshitting yourself, not me.”

Attacking John back felt like a safer bet than trying to defend himself. “Like you were there for some miraculous consummation? Some beautiful, heart-wrenching dénouement to a tragic love story? You’re full of it. Don’t come for me like you had some higher ground to speak from. We’re not special, John. We don’t have some kind of cosmic soulmate connection where we can read each other’s minds and desires. You and I, as anything, aren’t going to live happily ever after. Go buy into some other fuckin’ fantasy.”

“You were a mistake,” John spat.

“Mistakes happened,” Paul concluded. “I didn’t.”

John gaped at him as Paul pushed off. His chest was heaving, tight with unrestrained breaths, looking like a cornered animal. Though it was impossible to explain, Paul watched in real time as something shattered in John’s soul. He didn’t know what it was, and it didn’t seem like John knew, either. Paul turned on his heel before he could give the sight any more thought.

“You told me to forget it. So that’s what I’m doing. For good.” Paul stalked back to where his guitar lay on the ground. He began to gather his belongings and pack up for the day. “This conversation is over.”

“So that’s it? You don’t want to talk about it?” John called out to him, planting himself in the doorway as Paul made for the exit.

“Get out of the way, John.”

He held his ground and spoke honestly for the first time in a long, long time. “You’re not gonna talk about it, yeah? That’s fine. Fuckin’ beautiful. I’ll talk about it. I love you.”

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #mclennon #part 6 #chapter fic #ao3 #more angst #there's a happy ending coming soon i promise

10 notes · View notes

jennylamb2006 · 6 years

Link

Decline 45th High School Reunion

I cannot attend the reunion for reasons cited below but rest assured that my spirit will be there.

I remember attending 9th grade home room in the fall of 1969 as a skinny 14 year old not knowing what my future will be at East Paterson High School. Well I am 63 years old and the results are nearly in.

I had just finished 8 years at St. Anne's Parochial School. I had a good friend named George Wolfe who had dated Rhonda Frattolillo. He attended Fair Lawn High School so I felt lost in the new environment.

Growing up on 18th Avenue I had also known Tommy Moriarty. I spoke to a childhood friend the other day. She told me about the passing of Tommy who died at the age of 62. Tommy had down syndrome. He lived with his rather large family on 16th Avenue. My memory is hazy but some of the details of my childhood have stayed with me. We grew up together for the period of roughly 1965-1968. Many hours were spent sleigh riding on the small hill located near Tommy's house on 16th Avenue. One day my family's dog ran out the door and it seemed like at least 20 children including Tommy tried to catch him. Pepper ran into the woods near the Garfield Water Works. Eventually despite the snow and other dangers Pepper was returned. I asked my Mom about Tommy being different and at the time the term retarded was used. My Mom who was generally soft spoken told me that God made all children in his likeness. Soon after this I was standing on top of 16th Avenue hill waiting to sleigh down it. Tommy was there and asked me if I was his friend. We rode down the hill on the sleigh together. Rest in peace Tommy.

At East Paterson High School I remember being called to Dr Varese the Principal's office in 1972. I was nervous but he congratulated me on receiving a New Jersey State Scholarship. I believe my father who was a Veteran of World War II at Pearl Harbor had something to do with it. I did not serve in the military the draft had ended when I became eligible. Besides I had seen enough fighting outside the third wing of the high school to realize that it was just plain stupid.

I was interested in sports especially baseball throughout my high school years. I am enclosing a picture of my high school jacket. I was too nervous to ask any girls to the proms but if I had the nerve I would have asked Roberta Fisher. Please hug her for me at the reunion. She is a good friend and a wonderful lady. I remember wrestling with you and realizing that you were a skilled wrestler. I remember playing one on one Basketball with Tony Zappala and losing but I was not intimidated by his New Jersey All State superior skills. I remember pitching my first inning in Varsity baseball and realizing that my 80 MPH fastball was not enough to win a ticket to the Major Leagues. But I loved the competition and had some meager success to build on.

After high school I attended College and continued to play baseball. In 1974 I pitched a three hitter against the 11th ranked community college in the nation putting our team in first place. I remember Dennis Walling hitting a double off me in the first inning. When I walked back to the bench my coach told me he was a really good hitter and somehow I got him out the next three times I faced him. Walling went on to have a Hall of fame career in the major leagues. But my ego grew really large that day. I wanted to pitch the 2nd game of the doubleheader but the coach thought otherwise.

In 1974 I heard Paul McCartney’s Band on the Run and my life was changed. If you are ever in a bad mood play this song and you will know what I mean.

In 1976 I dated the first love of my life named Linda Lane. Her father was a wealthy businessman from Paterson New Jersey. Linda attended College in Pennsylvania. I remember driving down to see her and wondering what the future holds for me. In 1977 I proposed to Linda at Valley Forge State Park. She said yes if we could resolve our religious differences. This was true love only encumbered by my Roman Catholic faith vs. her born again Christian beliefs despite the fact that her father was Jewish and her mother was Roman Catholic.

I broke up with Linda and decided to take my 1968 Chevy Nova (I had rebuilt the engine in the snow of the 1977 winter) and move to California. I lost the opportunity for inherited wealth for the California dream by humming the Beach boys songs of the 60's as my friend Lamont and I drove to Long Beach California. I also had an Accounting degree from William Paterson College and $5,000.00. I planned to retire by age 40 with $100,000.00. I remember saying that I had no intention of reading another book until I have some fun. While we looked for apartments I found one but when Lamont turned up to sign the papers it was rented. I found another and made sure Lamont was not there to sign papers. There are bigots apparently all of the country. I really hate bigots.

In late 1978 I met a California girl with a golden smile named Laura Lambert that has graced my life for 40 years. That year I also met Ron Beaman from Nebraska. We have been friends all these years which I consider myself lucky. The next 8 years were spent living in a two bedroom apartment one block from the beach playing basketball with about 40 friends every weekend. I owned a small accounting business.

In 1980 I cried when John Lennon died.

In 1986, Laura and I bought our first piece of Real Estate, a one bedroom condo. It was a bit intimidating. By 2008 we bought/sold over 100 properties, so much for being nervous.

In the late 80’s I met the first of two attorneys that I am also friends with. Gene Goldman is a good attorney whose only deficiency is being weak in billable hours. I believe his calming disposition helped me in dealing with homeowners associations.

By 1994 Laura and I had accumulated 10 pieces of real estate and I had obtained real estate Brokers licenses in California and Nevada. My first real estate sale was to a single mom. She cried when I gave her the keys and I did too when I received a check for $2,200.00 for about 4 hours of work. It seemed so easy. At the loan signing her parents apologized for her being gay. I did not know what to say to the assholes. I wanted the deal to go through so I kept my mouth shut. In 1996 my daughter Rhiannon was born (named after the Fleetwood Mac song of 1977).

In 2002 I attended two concerts, Paul McCartney and Bruce Springsteen in Las Vegas. This makes up for not seeing Bruce Springsteen at Mr. D’s on the corner of Market Street and Midland Avenue. I realized that Paul McCartney and the Beatles were God’s gift to mankind. How lucky were we to experience this?

By 2004 I had a million dollars in the bank and 8 properties. I would go down to the Las Vegas courthouse to buy foreclosures. One property I did not have any information on started bidding at $30,000. I knew the people bidding were attorneys who regularly bought so when the bidding reached $400,000 I started chirping in. I bought it sight unseen for $425,000.00. As I paid the lady one of the attorneys said he was upset and wanted it. I drove my Lexus quickly to the property which was in a gated community. It was a fixer upper that I hoped to sell $575,000.00 and make $30,000.00 on. Well in 4 months after remodeling the price had soared to $675,000.00. I had made $100,000.00 on a house bought sight unseen. My ego grew again.

In 2005 at Christmas time I walked into Wells Fargo Bank in Henderson Nevada with my daughter Rhiannon and asked the teller how much the Wells Fargo Stuffed Stagecoach was. She responded by giving it to my daughter telling her that I was their biggest customer. My ego expanded again.

In 2006 Laura and I met Lon and Mary Searle and their fine family. They are mormons that have great values. Of course we do not agree on Joseph Smith.

By 2008 my material wealth had diminished considerably but luck would have it I found out that my ancestors arrived at Jamestown Virginia in 1629 and I was the 12th generation. I decided to take Laura and Rhiannon and move to Williamsburg Virginia. There was no stopping my love for United States History which began reading about Ethan Allen and the Green mountain Boys at St. Anne's in 2nd grade. Sure Kennedy was shot that same year but if the truth be known it wasn't Oswald who did it. There was a severe recession on except I did not notice it because of my families history unfolded before my eyes. I found the original family cemetery and plantation and a historical figure named Dred Scott who did not have his birthplace recognized. I fixed that in a couple of years by connecting two documents 40 years and 700 miles apart. Isn’t history grand?

In 2009 I met Richard Lincoln Francis, clerk of the Southampton County Court in Virginia. He is descended from Abraham Lincoln and I consider him a good friend who is qualified to be President of the United States. He is my East coast attorney, we have had more fun than should be allowed. To give you an example we had a trial over a Hines lucky rock that rivals the OJ Simpson trial of the century. I have taught Rick the 8 things to drive a golf ball successfully. He is a terrible student who has a tendency to make phone calls while teeing off. I believe this violates some rules.

Since moving to Williamsburg Virginia I have written five books. My disdain for reading that occurred after college was over. The second book involving the research to discover Dred Scott's birthplace is being converted into a movie. It is entitled Walk With You, the story of Dred Scott and the Blow Family of Virginia. It is about 8 children 6 white and 2 black that grew up and bonded together to take on the President and Chief Justice of the United States. I have met Hollywood stars including Ed Asner. My time is currently possessed in seeing this venture is completed to fruition.

My life has been blessed by God and living in the greatest country in the world. I have lived the American dream which consists of association with all ethnic groups. My first twenty two years living in New Jersey were great. My next twenty three years in California were better. My next 8 years in Henderson Nevada were living the dream. The next 5 years in Williamsburg were amazing. And the last few years touring the United States with Laura are the best ever. Opportunities if you use education to advance yourself. If these members of our class are among the living: Robert Motta, Robert Hurley, and Joseph Lasica, please give them my best.

Our democracy is currently under attack by a greedy lying moron who has no business occupying the world's beacon of freedom head office. This will change soon. If any of the morons who voted for this clown have issue I will be happy to meet them outside the 3rd wing at EPHS and give them a taste of true Democracy from someone who has lived it. I have had only two fights in my life. I am undefeated and plan to stay that way.

Warmest Regards,

Jeffrey Allen Hines

Class of 1973

#walkwithyou

#neveragain

#bluewave2018

8 notes · View notes

gloves94 · 4 years

Text

The Munter [Paul McCartney] 3

Warnings: None Pairings: Paul McCartney/OC Summary: Sage O'Shea is a hardworking woman of the 1960's. A strange combination of brains and- well- Let's just say she is not your average beauty. Au contraire she's a Munter. John bets Paul that he wouldn't dare date such a monstrous woman. Despite his best judgement Paul agrees and takes John on his daring bet. Will Paul be able to see Sage's true beauty? What's going to happen when poor Sage finds out about their nasty bet? Whether the results are pretty or not- one thing I can say is love works in mysterious ways. *Comments and reviews are appreciated.* *Character development*

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

3. The Gift

Friday, November 22nd, 1963

It had been a couple of weeks since I had started working for Brian Epstein and The Beatles. So had that hideous woman Isabel. In my time working with Mr. Epstein I had witnessed what my best friend Lori considered to be “history.” The band had just released their second album in the UK ‘With the Beatles.’ The album had been such a success that it had kicked their first album from the number one position. Their hit song "All My Loving" was currently playing on the stereo of Dacey's Delights where I was patiently waiting for my turn. I did not like this song. It reminded me that damn John Lennon and just how awful he could be. I wore my knitted scarf and warm clothes. My fingers tightly gripped the gift bag I was holding. I glanced at the long line ahead and then at my watch and debated whether I should stay or leave. I did not want to be late for work. With Isabel taking up any chance to make me look bad I could not afford any slips. Looking back at the door a now familiar rectangular face stood out. George looked particularly startled when his eyes met my broken glasses. I wanted to look away, but it was too late he had already seen me. I flashed him a polite very tight-lipped smile and raised my hand up in a polite wave. He did the same and decided to advance and cut in line in front of me.

"Mind if I join ya?" He asked with a coy grin hands shoved deep in his coat’s pockets. Why would he ask if he was going to do it anyway? Regardless, he was technically my boss, so I simply nodded my head. I didn’t think he wanted to chat me up and instead focused my attention on the dark-haired baker at the front of the cash register. Imagine my surprise when George began feeling chatty. "So- you come here often?"

"Yeah," I answered in a lukewarm tone attempting not to make any conversation. He looked at me with expectant eyes.

Feeling awful at my rudeness I changed my mind and decided to be friendly. "It's my favorite bakery," I added shortly with a small smile. I didn’t know if it was me or if I saw the man visible cringe when I smiled.

"Yeah, they have the best bloody scones in all of London," he exclaimed looking at the front of the line excitedly. "They're good with a cuppa tea for keeping warm. It's like the Baltics out there. I can't wait for it to be warm again, so I can have lolly ices again," he said almost in one breath. I looked at him confused having no idea what he had just said. "Ah, right. You're not from the northwest right?" I simply shook my head. "I usually don't have any trouble since the lads all just picked up the same words, except for Ringo."

"So, you and the others go way back then?" I inquired as we stepped forward in the line. George began telling me how him and Paul went all the way back and how they had met John who put the band together later and then he joked about how they stole Ringo from another band because they had a good lad who was a bad drummer named Pete Best. And as George spoke I realized it was no surprise that girls threw themselves at him. Afterall, George was known as the Handsome Beatle. With a square jaw, high cheek bones and deep-set dark brown eyes that seemed to peer into your soul- I shook her head snapping out of my very embarrassing train of thought.

"Ringo is our drummer and he's not even the best drummer in the band!" He laughed. "Well at least that's what John says," he noticed the way that I stiffened at the mention of his fellow bandmate.

"I know John's an arsehole," he said once again burying his hands deep inside of his pockets. "But he's not half bad once you get to know him. He doesn't mean half the crap that comes out of his mouth."

"And the other half?" I retorted cocking a thick eyebrow up.

xxx

Then it was our turn. George looked at the cashier before them. His heart began hammering in his chest. Hands sweaty. She was the same one that he came to see every day and the same one that kept him up at night in his dreams.

"Sagey?" The cashier asked eagerly almost jumping over the counter. Her long black curls bobbing as she did. Bright blue eyes sparkling with the same joy she shared with each and every one of her customers every single day. But what he loved most about her as her smile.

He was taken aback when she went around the counter in order to embrace the Munter.

"Sagey! Where have you been?!" She asked in the hug. Her American accent was completely distinguishable.

"Working I'm afraid," she said casually. "Working! Ah! That’s all you do now a days!" She reached for her arms giving them a tight squeeze. That's when she noticed the gift bag that she was holding onto. "I made this for my darling Godson. Hope he's not too big and it still fits him."

The peppy woman pulled out a knitted outfit and a small cap that Sage had made for her Godson. She was speechless. Sage couldn't help but grin, her enthusiasm was always contagious.

One of the great things about Lori Tomlinson Dacey was that she'd absolutely loved every single gift or anything you gave her. She would always say "it's the thought that matters!"

"It's beautiful," she nodded and gave Sage another hug.

"We have to catch up soon. But for now, I gotta work!" She said sheepishly grinning at the long line of customers.

'She knew her?!' George was taken a back. The Munter was intimate friends with her?! She was just full of surprises. He didn't realize that he had slapped the money on the counter. "Hers on me," he word-vomited. The cashier smiled at him, he felt as if he was going to faint.

"Thanks Lorelei," Sage sang taking her scone with her. George stood there like a fool his eyes glued on Lori's smiling face.

"See ya George," she added flatly before leaving the place. She didn't even introduce them!

"W-Wait!" George called as he grabbed the bag of muffins from the counter and chasing after his accountant.

"Oi!" He said. His breath visible in the chilly morning air.

"You don't have to do that," she said as she quickened her pace as she made her way to Brian's office. "Do what?" He retorted confused.

"Buy me my scones, pretend to like me," she sighed. "Don't worry. I'm not paid to be friends or even like you or any of the others."

"I was just being nice," George said sounding upset. "No, no you weren't. You saw me and used me to get ahead in line and now you want me to introduce you to my friend, right?"

He glared at her, slightly hurt by her cold words. Unbelievable. It was almost as if she had read his mind.

"You're not the first or the last," she said turning away from him and continuing her trip to the office.

"Wait-" George said once again this time he held her arm making her stop.

"I'm sorry," he breathed an apology. "I'm sorry that John's an arsehole to you, that Ringo will be rude to you so he can please Isabel and that Paul is just-" George cringed. Paul wouldn’t even acknowledge Sage; he was so cold to her. It was unreal.

Every single time she ran into Paul Macartney it was the same thing. He would either avoid her, look the other way or simply brush past her without another word. At least Lennon bothered commenting on her broken glasses.

"Right, and I'm just as bad for not doing anything to stop it." George raised both of his hands up I defeat. "Start from zero?" He said with a small grin offering his stretched-out hand for her to shake.

Hesitantly she reached for it and wrapped her fingers around his square hand. George grinned broadly.

"Alright, it's set. I want you to know that our privileged friendship allows us to cut in line anywhere and with anyone," he said still grinning as he stuffed his face with a muffin. It seemed like all George did was eat! “We also have sharesies when one or the other gets food.”

"George, snap back to reality, you're a Beatle. You don't need to cut in line," she rolled her eyes. "Me on the other hand well, I'm just the Munter," she shrugged her shoulders pitifully as she called herself that.

"Well, at least you're honest!" George teased with a grin. She shook her head and playfully shoved him as they walked to the office.

Xxx

Sometimes later George and I reached the office. On way George explained to me a little bit more in detail of what the band did. He told her about the strenuous hours of recording in the studio, the other hours practicing, song writing and the touring or giving interviews that they had to do.

And in all honesty, I was very surprised, my entire life I had been blinded to think that the life of a musician was an easy one.

It was not. On the way George was also harassed by many fans who wanted to take a lock from his hair or give him their knickers to sign (or keep). It got to the point that we had to run a block, hide behind a moving van and wait them out.

"Thank God I'm ugly," I muttered to herself humorously when I watched George struggle with the crazies. By the time we reached the offices both of us were smiling and laughing. A scene which made Isabel’s stomach churn uneasily based on her foul expression.

"Oh hi George!" Isabel jumped on her heels and ran towards him immediately wrapping her arms around his neck without consent.

Geez! She was almost as bad as his fan girls. "I missed you," she said in a sultry tone. Her attempt to hypnotize him failed and he simply appeared to be uncomfortable. "Hi," he muttered under his breath as he attempted to remove her hands off from his person.

"Yeah I'm late for a meeting," he said brushing her off politely.

Isabel cursed and turned to glare at me. I didn’t bother in hiding my triumphant smirk. Yup, whatever vile plan you had Isabel; I was just about to trump.

"What do you look so damn pleased about Four Eyes?" She suddenly snapped at me.

"Nothing," I responded with an eat-shit-grin, "I just hope that you are ready for today, because our expense reports are due," I smiled maliciously at her. I tapped my dancing fingers on the vanilla carpet I was now holding to my chest. In all sincerity, I admit, maybe I am just as bad as her.

Isabel cursed once again.

"What do you want?" Isabel suddenly snapped a bribe. "Do the reports for me and I'll give you whatever you want," she pleaded in desperation taking me back by surprise.

"Thank you really, but thankfully I don't need anything," I responded dully. “Sage, please,” she pleaded. “I can’t lose this job!”

“Well, then you should’ve done it!” I snapped back. “I-I had other tasks to do.” She almost begged. Her eyes pleading. Wow. I had never seen her like this. I never thought she would ask anything of me. Much less this. Shaking my head, I turned and exited the room. Today would be a happy day. I was confident in my financial advice and in my accounting abilities which would certainly overshadow Isabel's and Brian would hopefully give her the boot. I walked into Brian's office walking a little taller today. Paul and George were both sitting in one of the dull green sofas. As soon as I walked into the room Paul ceased laughing and became dead quiet. ‘Geez, he must really not like me being around.’ I thought to myself. George elbowed him and gave him an odd look. He turned to face me across the room and as if he read my mind, he discretely made a shrugging motion with his shoulders.

"Still wearing those glasses?" Brian commented as I made way to the supply closet also known as the cave, or my office.

"I'm saving for new ones, have to pay my rent first you know?"

'And the outstanding debt for my mother's medical expenses have accumulated'I thought to herself bitterly. "If any number on your report is wrong today-" Brian threatened with wary eyes and a raised finger.

"I know, I know," I nodded "But I can assure you I'm an efficient worker, with or without my glasses.”

"Sage, meeting room in a quarter of an hour, we'll be going over yours and Isabel's reports." I nodded.

Once inside of the privacy of my small office I did a little dance cheering while jumping up and down like a dork. There was no doubt, Isabel was not going to be able to present her reports and she'd be out of here so fast it would make her head spin. The evil had finally been defeated.

I sat on my desk gathering my supplies getting ready. Where was my red pen again? I opened the first drawer of my desk and instead found a small box inside.It was a long white box that I could hold with both of my hands. It had a simple blue ribbon wrapped and tied with a bow at the top.

What on Earth could this be? A gift? I looked up to meet the eyes of Frank Sinatra. Yes- I keep a framed picture of Mr. Sinatra on my desk. Since I never met my father, I like pretending that Frank is my old man. The odds of that were astronomical. However, it made me feel loads better. Besides, like my dad he is also an American, so maybe the odds weren’t that astronomical? “Looks like there’s no note,” I spoke to the photograph. “Who did this Frank?” The photograph remained silent with the man’s blue eyes boring into mine. “This must be a prank,” I thought uneasily. I couldn’t help but wondered what was inside a shock buzzer? A leaping roach? “Maybe it’s a mouse trap!” ‘Maybe I should just open it and get it over with. Like a band aid…’ Placing the box in the center of the desk I began to carefully disarm it as if it was a time ticking bomb. I removed the bow carefully and then the small lid even more carefully. I braced myself ready for whatever could be inside of the mysterious box to leap out or attack.

A stink bomb? A dead rat? Cosmetics? A secret admirer prank perhaps? It wouldn't not be the first time for any of the previously mentioned scenarios happened...

"Lets see what've you got for me Isabel," I finally opened it. I peered in and inside of them was-

"A pair of glasses?" I was completely taken back.

I held the black rimmed elegant glasses in my hands and eyed them carefully. They were designer eyeglasses, dark and slick, anything unlike the bulky cracked pair that was being pitifully held together by tape. Even the prescription was right! “’To the loveliest vision.’” I read out loud and felt my ears suddenly grow hot with embarrassment. This had to be a prank. But wait- 'Isabel wouldn't be able to afford this. But what if she stole them and wants to incriminate me?'

I debated whether she should wear the new glasses or not.

"Well- maybe if I just try them on?" I slipped them on and wow what a huge difference they made! I could see clear as day once again. Even the world seemed to change color. Everything looked brighter, sharper, cleaner. There was no way that I could go back to wearing the broken ones. I wanted to think it had been Brian, but then there was that note. To the loveliest vision? There is certainly nothing lovely about me. Maybe it’s referring to perfect vision? The thought of it scrambled my brain and made my face burn. I prayed it had been Brian, concerned about the effectiveness of my work. Some moments later I stepped out ready with my documents and my fancy new dark rimmed glasses. When I reached the meeting room Brian was sitting at the head of the table discussing finances with other men whom could only assume were his financial advisers.

Isabel sat in a chair uneasy. Even her short skirt and sexy low-cut shirt wouldn't be able to save her from this one. She was so nervous she didn't even bother to comment on my new glasses, but John did.

"Nice glasses Four Eyes," he said teasingly as Sage sat down next to George and Ringo. John was sitting opposite of the long table smirking. He could be such a child sometimes. Isabel and Paul were sitting next to him. It couldn’t have been John. I looked at the men in the room. It couldn’t have been anybody in this room. George had been with me in the morning, John was such a prick he wouldn’t have bothered doing something so kind for me, Paul wouldn’t even acknowledge me and- My eyes suddenly landed on Ringo. Could it have possibly been?

"Oh shut it Lennon, you have the same bloody glasses," George called from the other side of the room.

"John wears glasses?" Ringo asked.

"Hates wearing them, hates it when people see him wearing them even more," George explained. I flashed my new friend a thankful smile.

"I never noticed that your eyes were green," George commented leaning in closer to look at my green eyes. "Yeah" I admitted removing my brand new glasses and polishing them.

"I have a tired vision; my head starts hurting if I don't wear them."

"Yeah. They are nice, I like 'em" even Ringo commented. My eyes instantly snapped to his, but his blue ones were focused on Isabel’s expression. Maybe it hadn’t been him? The blonde woman was currently frantically writing notes on a paper not even minding the fact that the Lennon-Macartney duo were sitting next to her. It was almost concerning…

Brian then stood up as the other men left the room and he proceeded to call Isabel and I to the front of the meeting table to pick up our paycheck which could also be our last. The blonde's hands were trembling as she did.

"Oh, and thank you for the glasses Brian," I said to him kindly.

His brows furrowed as he flashed me a confused look. "What are you talking about?" He said eyeing her curiously. It hadn’t been him. It had not been him. My mind went blank. I had absolutely no idea who it could’ve been. I waited for someone anyone in the room to claim ownership for the kind gesture.

With that I returned to my seat and began to explain to a George and Ringo what they should invest in, how to protect their assets, legally decrease their taxes and more basic financial advice. Brian listened carefully, so did George and Ringo nodding and asking questions about accounting terms.

Then it was Isabel's turn. She looked at the numbers on her sheet and it looked like she was seeing complete gibberish. If I were to put money on it I would bet that she wouldn’t even know how to balances assets with liabilities and equity, the simplest and most basic accounting equation.

"Um..." she stuttered. John and Paul starred at her blankly. It was obvious she had no idea what she was doing. This was it. Brian did not look happy. Ringo observed with worry as if only there was something, he could do for her...

Ringo turned to look at me with a pleading expression to do something, anything. Isabel looked to be on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

"It's not her fault," I spoke to the unexpecting audience. All eyes turned to me with a bewildered expression. Even Brian was surprised, they all knew that Isabel could really be a devil towards me.

"What?" Brian drawled out confused.

"The other day Isabel phoned me to check on some accounting formulas, she misunderstood what I said and realized the numbers were wrong today."

I lied through my teeth.

Isabel's eyes went as wide as saucers.

"Formulas? But she should have those memorized already!" Brian exclaimed.

"True," I continued. "But she was dropped on her head as a child, which is why her memory is just awful. She can't even remember Ringo's name! Imagine that," I shook her head. "Is that right?" Brian inquired with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Yeah-Yes!" She exclaimed placing her palms on the table and regaining he composure. "It's true, all of it."

"I'd say it's best if Isabel returns to her desk to correct her... mistake, meanwhile I could read the numbers and give some advice to John and Paul."

Brian knew that both Isabel and I had a mutual distaste for each other. It was as clear as water. I had no reason to defend her or less to lie to him and put my job on the line..

"Very well then," Brian simply shrugged and allowed Isabel to exit the room.

"But you best have your report first thing tomorrow morning Ms. Murdock!" He barked.

Before leaving Isabel flashed me what looked like a grateful look. I did not return it.

'I hope I don't regret this..' I thought to herself.

George and Ringo stepped out of the meeting room. Brian left to scold Isabel, often times Brian was more like a father then a manager.

"So, why'd you do it eh? Sagey?" John asked wiggling his eyebrows leaning over and across the table. A Cheshire cat grin stretched over his thin lips.

"Do what?" I retorted as she squinted and wrote some numbers on the expense files that Brian had given me.

"You lied to Eppy to save the sexy incarnation of Satan," John said licking his lips intrigued as he mindlessly played with a pencil. Paul, like when around her, remained silent. "I have no idea what you are talking about," I responded focused on the paper.

"Bollocks!" Lennon exclaimed. He slammed a fist on the table making everything shake. "I will find out Sage O'Shea!” Ignoring him I shook my head. “If you tell me why- I’ll tell you who was the teddy boy that gifted you those fancy new glasses.” My eyes went wide and I turned to look at John in shock. It was him! It had to have been! The edging smirk on his lips, made me think otherwise. So, then I eyed him with terrible suspicion.

“H-How?” I hated myself for stuttering.

John's smirk only grew wider. He reminded me of a sly fox who had just gotten what he wanted.

"I'll tell if you tell.”

'Not worth it'I thought. I decided to ignore him and simply returned to my accounting. I had a feeling I would find out who had given me these glasses sooner or later. Growing bored and in need of a distraction John stood up and without another word he left the room.

Now, it was just me and Paul. Not that I minded. I had a feeling he wouldn’t say more than a word to me, or maybe he would just leave the room like John. At least I would manage to get some of my work done.

Xxx

Meanwhile outside of the meeting room, after receiving a scolding from Brian; Isabel sat in her desk in an attempt to figure out just what had happened. It was then that her phone rang. She immediately answered,

"Hello?” She greeted the familiar voice on the other side of the line.

"I told you not to call me to this number!" Isabel continued the conversation in a hushed tone.

"I almost got fired today... I know, I know... I'm working on it!"

The mysterious person on the other side of the phone line sounded very demanding.

"Good things take time, give me a couple more days and I promise you I'll have something for you," she assured the person. "Someone is coming, bye!" Isabel slammed the phone.

xxx

My eyes squinted at John's account. While the four men had ridiculous spending on non-essentials- well there was just something odd about John's account. There were large sums of money missing that lead to nowhere and had no trace. It was just plain fishy… I kept my head ducked and attempted to focus only on the numbers on the page before her. However, Paul’s anxious foot tapping made it hard to tune out. There was something about his mute presence in the room that made me terribly jumpy.

"How'd you like the glasses?" I was startled by the proximity of his voice.

Startled I put down my pen and touched the rims of my new glasses. I looked at him with surprise feeling extra self-conscious of my choice of wearing a gray jumper today and the blood that was beginning to pool my cheeks. Could it have been him?

"I felt terrible for breaking them, it's my way of properly apologizing," he offered me a boyish smile. It was probably that same smile that he knew made all the girls swoon. I looked at him unsure of how to respond. My eyes scanned his face for the slightest hint of betrayal. I gazed into his large doe eyes wanting it to be an ugly prank, waiting for a cruel punchline. What about that note? What on Earth did that mean?

A thank you would've sufficed instead I said-

"I thought you hated me," I vomited out the words.

I instantly regretted the moment that the words left her mouth. My eyes scanned the room for an exit.

"Hate?" He retorted confused. "I thought you were the one who didn't fancy me!" I allowed a humorous breath to escape my nose and shook my head lightly.

"Like I told George this morning, I'm not paid to fancy you four. Just to do your accounting."

"So how do you fancy us?" Paul asked relaxing into his chair. He propped his chin on his hand as he leaned forward on the desk. Much too close to comfort. I paused for a moment thinking of my answer carefully.

"I haven't decided if I fancy you or not-" I began. "But I do know that John is a prick!"

Paul chuckled.

"Ah, John can be hard around the edges, but he's a soft-hearted lad," he explained. I shook her head and once again glued my eyes to the papers I had on my hands. "That's what everyone keeps saying," I said with both of my eyebrows raised in incredulous disbelief.

"Is this going to take much longer?" Paul suddenly asked and uncrossed his legs leaning back on his chair.

"Afraid so," I said not taking my eyes off the papers. Not wanting to meet his eyes. "Say, how about this, I'm free tomorrow afternoon. Why don't you swing by my house and drop them off, we can have some tea? Yeah?"

I was barely able to keep my jaw from dropping in surprise.

I blinked twice almost stupefied, "uh, sure?" It sounded more like a question.

"Gear!" He slid a paper with his phone and address across the table.

"See you then Sage. Ta!" He waved away with a wink and left.

I sat in my seat stunned. My face felt hot from the embarrassment. What had just happened? Had Paul McCartney just been flirting with her?

I shook her head once again. No of course not. That was impossible.

xxx

First: https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/615538641525243904/the-munter-the-beatles-1 Next: https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/615546799981281280/the-munter-the-beatles-4 Prev: https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/615541075388530688/the-munter-the-beatles-2

#fanfic #Beatles fanfic #fan fiction #John lennon #Paul mccartney #George harrison #ringo starr #60's #band #rock #writing

0 notes